If You Win, You Live
by gtgrandom
Summary: "...If you lose, you die. If you don't fight, you can't win!" Hunger Games AU! Eren takes Armin's place in the 74th annual Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

The forest breathed an aching sigh, full of unease, full of impatience for that morning's announcement.

"What's out there?" Eren whispered.

Armin looked up at the brunette, staring off into the distance at the giant walls.

"Concrete," he supplied, grinning slightly.

Eren rolled his eyes, shoving the other boy into the grass.

They always met up in the forest, where Armin could read, and Eren could explore. They'd exchange goods here too. Eren would provide Armin's grandfather with medical supplies they couldn't afford, and Armin would bring Eren odd trinkets and valuables from his grandfather's travels to the Capital.

Eren could sell the objects to the Hob, 12's black market, so as not to put Armin and his family in any kind of danger.

It worked, barely.

But there was no such thing as a satisfied stomach. Or a quenched thirst.

"Someday, we're getting out, Armin. Just you wait," Eren said.

"Someday, you're going to get thrown in prison for talking like that," Armin replied, flipping another page in his book. "They'll hear you saying something stupid, and you'll disappear. Or worse…you'll get chosen for the reaping."

The smile on the blonde's face disappeared, and he met Eren's eyes in fear.

"Don't worry, Armin," Eren said. "We're going to be fine."

"Eren you know how probability works, right? Our names…both of us are signed up for tesserae. Compared to the others…"

Eren sighed, stealing the book out of Armin's hands. He needed a distraction.

"Hey! I was in the middle of that paragraph!"

Eren thumbed through the crumbling novel, finding the picture he loved the most. He held it up so Armin could see.

"Remember this?"

"Yes, Eren, I do."

"What is it?"

Armin crossed his arms. "It's the ocean."

"Right. And what did we say? What did we promise?"

"That one day we'd see it with our own eyes."

"That's right." Eren lowered the book so he could look into his friend's eyes. "Armin, a promise is a promise. No stupid peacekeepers are going to take this away from us."

* * *

OoO

* * *

Eren stood in the back with the other boys his age, a dull throbbing in his head.

He could still smell the scent of his mother's hair, pressed against his cheek as she hugged him. Her eyes that told him it might not be okay, but the voice that said otherwise.

Eren spotted Armin a few rows down, hands fidgeting with nerves.

Then the microphone on stage was tapped—too loudly—and screeched from feedback.

"Welcome, welcome," the woman began, the same one as every year. She wore these large goggle-glasses, and she had this crazy glint in her eyes. Hanji, District 12's Escort. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds, be _ever_ in your favor."

Eren's mind wandered as the Captial's promotional video played, trying to convince its citizens that sending their children off for publicized execution was justified. This annual event was just punishment for the rebellion against the dynasty, past generations' mistakes. Now one boy and girl from every district were sent to kill each other in a televised broadcast.

Eren hated the system. He hated living in a cage. He hated the Hunger Games.

But they all did, he just wasn't afraid of saying so.

"And now, ladies first…"

Hanji, in her wacky military uniform, placed her hand in the glass box, drawing out a name as the entire population of District 12 drew in a breath.

"Our first tribute, Miss Mikasa Ackerman! Please come forward!"

The girls tensed, heads turning towards the one who would be sent to die, sent to kill.

Slowly, the girl moved, making her way to the platform.

She had black, silky hair—not a common trait in 12. She was thin, pale, and she wore a red scarf over her faded reaping clothes.

She turned to face the crowd, standing solemnly next to Hanji.

Eren's mouth opened slightly, and he couldn't find it in him to stop gaping.

He…knew her.

A cold storm. Two lost kids. His favorite red scarf.

How…where had she been all this time? He hadn't seen her in years. And 12 wasn't that big.

"Armin Arlert!"

Eren snapped out of it. He tunneled in on his best friend, his stiff back, clenched fists. Terrified features.

 _No._

Hanji hadn't just read his name, had she? She hadn't just…chosen Armin?

Soft-spoken, timid Armin? The bookworm? The boy who couldn't hurt a fly?

Eren moved toward his friend. No way. They wouldn't take him, not Armin. Give them the district bully, give them someone tall, someone strong. Not his best friend.

The Peacekeepers tried to hold him back. He felt hard hands on his chest, pushing, holding, restraining.

 _No_.

"No!" he yelled, elbowing one and stumbling out into the pathway. He was in hysterics, he knew.

"Eren!" someone reprimanded. His mother?

"I volunteer!" Eren bellowed, silencing the crowd. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Stone. Cold. Silence.

The district looked at him like some sort of alien creature. And Armin stood across from him, eyes wide, swollen with tears.

"Eren…" Armin got out, broken.

Eren nodded at him, a brotherly acceptance of responsibility, and in an out-of-body state, he stepped forward towards the platform.

"Ho-ohhh! A volunteer?!" Hanji cried. "I believe we have our first ever volunteer! What's your name, son?"

Eren felt sick, and numb, and kind of dizzy, as cameras flashed and he saw that girl from his past—Mikasa—and forgot where he was.

She was staring at him, and her eyes were full of sorrow. Why was that expression so familiar?

Hanji chuckled as she patted him on the arm. "Your name?"

"Eren," he sighed. He could hear his mother sobbing in the distance. "Eren Jaeger."

"Very well. Let's have a round of applause for our two marvelous tributes!"

Hanji raised her arms in celebration, but the crowd just gave a blank series of stares. Then Armin, that shy, goody-two-shoes, raised his hand in a three finger salute.

And the rest of District 12 followed.

Goodbye, it meant. Thank you. We admire your courage.

Goodbye.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"Eren!"

Carla Jaeger crashed against her son, face wet with tears.

"Mom," he said, voice barely cracking. "I'm sorry." Over her shoulder he saw his father.

"You're going to make it," Carla whispered, cupping Eren's face. "If anyone can, I know you can. You were born in this world, Eren. Now promise me you'll survive it, okay?"

Eren nodded, and she kissed his forehead, leaving the room before she cried in front of him.

Grisha Jaeger looked down at his sixteen-year-old son and gave a watery smile.

Eren inhaled, trying not to break down.

"You're the key, Eren."

He frowned at his father's unexpected words. "What?"

There was an urgent knocking at the door, and Eren glanced at it before turning back around. "What are you talking about?"

"Just remember what you're capable of. You're the key to all of this."

"Dad…"

"Times up!"

"Wait!"

But his father was already ushered out of the room, and Eren was left standing by himself.

He collapsed on the nearest seat, trying not to hyperventilate. The reality of his situation was dawning on him. He'd just…thrown away his life. How dense. How foolish.

"Eren?"

"Armin!"

Eren turned to greet his friend, but the blonde merely tackled him in a hug. He was already speaking into his ear, hurriedly, tactically.

"You have a real chance, Eren. If it had been me, I'd be a goner. But you…you might actually be able to win this thing."

Eren's throat was closing up; he could feel the tears coming. "Armin, how could I win? I'm a doctor. I don't know how to fight."

Armin pulled back. "You can use a knife, right? Learn to fight with it—they provide you with a mentor." He smiled slightly, tight, but hopeful. "I _know_ you're going to come back home after all this."

"How can you have so much confidence in me?"

"Because. You're the most stubborn guy I've ever met. There's no way you'll give up. It's physically impossible."

Eren nodded, and he felt something prickle his hand. Armin's solid gaze slipped away as he was dragged out of the room by the peacekeepers.

Once he was alone, Eren opened his palm.

There was a pin. A Mockingjay pin.

A bird with the wings of freedom.

* * *

OoO

* * *

 **Heeeeyyyy look who's back.**

 **Let me know if you want me to keep going! I've got some ideas up my sleeves.**


	2. Chapter 2

Eren had never seen so much mahogany in his life.

Or so much of anything, really.

The train was beautiful and metallic, and Hanji had recounted every possible factoid about the thing. Hanji was a strange person. Maybe it was the influence of the Capitol on her mannerisms and her behavior, but Eren had never met someone quite like her. He didn't dislike her, though. Surprising as it was.

Hanji clapped Eren on the back. "We should have dinner tonight, all of us, with Levi too. You should meet him soon. He was supposed to be there today for the ceremony, but knowing him, he's probably off somewhere brooding…"

"Levi?"

"Your mentor. The last victor from 12. He…takes a while to warm up to."

Eren got the feeling she wasn't particularly fond of their mentor, and that worried him. If the person he was supposed to learn everything from was unhelpful…where did that leave him? And Mikasa?

Eren stole a glance at the silent girl. She hadn't spoken once since they'd met.

Or since they'd been _reunited_ , he supposed.

Did she remember him? Didn't she know whose scarf that belonged to?

She caught him staring, and she stared back, absently, questioning him.

Eren opened his mouth, then looked away. She was mildly terrifying.

Maybe she was just intimidating in general. Or maybe she was already distancing herself, so that when it came to the end, killing him would be easy. Did she already see him as another tribute? Another obstacle in her victory?

Had the Games already started?

* * *

OoO

* * *

"So…you won the Hunger Games," Eren said, his third attempt at making conversation.

The man across from him—Levi—raised his cup to his lips before answering. "Poor word choice. But yes."

"How?"

His mentor took a sip of tea, frowning at the taste. He was in his thirties, dark and wasted eyes, an undercut and straggly, shaggy bangs. "Alliances. Made friends."

"Imagine that," Hanji jeered from her end of the table.

Levi scowled at her, but it didn't seem genuine. Hanji just snorted, sliding the Bailey's across the tabletop. Maybe they didn't hate each other as much as they let on. He supposed they did have to work together, year after year, had to train and guide their tributes, only to send them off for murder.

"How old were you?" Eren asked.

"Fourteen."

"Did you kill anyone?"

Levi blinked disinterestedly. His eyes wandered to Mikasa. "Do you not talk or something, brat?"

Mikasa looked up from her untouched meal, disinterested and irritated. And just like that, she got up and left.

"She's charming," Levi muttered, but his gaze lingered on the door long after she'd disappeared. "Probably potent, though. It'll be interesting to see what she's capable of."

Eren cringed. Levi spoke about them like they were objects. Killing machines. Not people.

"What are _you_ capable of, Jaeger?"

Eren opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked down at the gourmet food. Call him insane, but he missed the bland scraps from 12. "Not much, sir. I…I know medical treatment, but…I'm not really a fighter."

Levi looked at him critically, as if he disagreed. Then his dark eyes flickered to Hanji, and they had some sort of silent communication.

"Eren," Levi continued, peeling his gaze from Hanji's, "…what's your goal?"

"My…goal, sir?"

Levi rolled his eyes. "What do you fucking want?"

 _Want_? Eren blinked. Did it even matter? These were Capitol sympathizers. Levi may have been bred from the suburbs, but he'd won the Hunger Games—he was tainted by the President and the country's barbaric ways. Eren couldn't trust them.

"I…just want to make it out alive."

Levi stared, as if waiting for elaboration, but Eren said nothing. The mentor slumped back, and Eren couldn't help thinking that he looked disappointed.

* * *

OoO

* * *

He couldn't sleep. Honestly, he would have been more surprised if he _could_.

How could he close his eyes and pretend like everything was perfectly alright? He was headed straight for the Capitol, where he would be ordered to die, to fight in a match like a dog. A match he'd volunteered for. _Idiot._

Then again, despite all the guilt he felt about leaving his mother, his father, and the fear seeping around the edges of his vision, he wasn't sorry.

He would have died rather than watch Armin bleed out on a television screen.

If it was for Armin, then he wouldn't regret.

Eren looked down at the pin in his hand, smiling. The Mockingjay. The offspring of the Jabberjay, the Capitol's hybrid spy to eavesdrop on the rebellion. When the rebels learned of the plot, they fed lies to the birds, who would repeat the false information to the Capitol.

Sure came around to bite them in the ass, didn't it?

"You're brave."

The noise startled him, and Eren whipped around.

Mikasa stood at the end of the train's social car, garbed in white silk pajamas.

"I…" he said, trying to work around the sound of her voice. "I don't know if I'm brave. Reckless. For sure."

"You seem like someone capable of both," she observed, and she came forward to sit across from him on the sofa.

Eren nodded, watching her fold her legs beneath her. She was so familiar, yet the memory attached to her remained buried beneath solid rock.

"Did that midget tell you anything helpful?" she asked. Eren responded with a dry chuckle.

"Not really. He doesn't seem to care whether we live or die."

Her frown grew, and she fumbled with the lace on her pants.

"Are you scared?" he asked her. It was really just to reassure himself that he wasn't alone in his grief, his paranoia.

She didn't answer, and for a moment, he didn't think she would. Then she shrugged. "Yes. I'm scared. But that's what they want. I won't give them the satisfaction."

There was a perceptible splash of menace in her voice, and Eren understood it, all too well. That tone in her voice was the floodgate.

There were three kinds of people in the world. The Gamemakers. The cowards. And the rebels—the ones sent to die. She was the third, like him, which meant he could express his thoughts. All his thoughts.

"I hate this," he confessed. "It's wrong. The whole thing. We're like cattle…sent to die."

"There's nothing we can do about it," she said, though her eyes ached for him to tell her otherwise.

"There's gotta be…" She met his gaze, and it was de ja vu. Those coal irises. The dark lashes. The hope. He swallowed. "At least…I won't let them use me. Change me. Turn me into something I'm not."

"How would they change you?" she whispered, but she already knew the answer.

Death. Carnage. Rage. Fear. They did terrible things to the mind. Terrible things to the heart.

"That's the whole point of this, isn't it? To show the districts that they are nothing. To show us we are weak. And that when it comes down to it, we will murder each other like savages to get what we want. That without order, without rules and factions, there's chaos…" he bit his lip to keep himself from saying more. Who knew? They could be on television right now. He had to be careful.

"I think it would take a lot to change you, Eren," she said softly, smiling without a smile.

Eren sat back on the sofa, watching her.

For the first time since the reaping, he didn't feel alone.

* * *

OoO

* * *

They'd reached the Capitol.

Eren figured they were meant to be awed by the technology and the ingenuity and all the water.

But he was just pissed.

Just...look at it all! The Capitol hoarded everything while the districts starved and kissed their children goodbye to be sent off for entertainment purposes.

Mikasa's hand rested on his shoulder, and he stopped glaring out the window of the train.

"Are you ready?" she asked. He turned to her.

She was wearing the red scarf again. His scarf. Unconsciously, he reached out, brushing his fingers along the fabric. Mikasa stiffened, but said nothing.

A forest. A storm. A cave.

He shuddered, and looked up to her cold, silver eyes. There was a question there. He wasn't sure if she didn't remember, or if she was asking him if he did, in her silent way.

"Time for the shit show," Levi announced, as the train slid to a halt. Eren stepped back from Mikasa, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Smiles on, brats."

The doors slid open, and the sound of a roaring, cheering crowd echoed from outside. The cameras would finally capture their embark into the city. Millions of people would scream their names and ask for autographs and welcome them to their end.

* * *

 **Ehh. Kind of unsatisfied with this chapter. But it'll get rolling soon.**


	3. Chapter 3

They burned his skin in acid and rubbed it raw. They waxed his legs and arms and torso. The space between his eyes. He heard snipping and buzzing and bickering and his body felt new and unfamiliar.

Not clean. _Polished._

"You must be Eren."

The sound was so sweet. It didn't belong in a world like this.

Eren sat up from the operating table, cringing because his skin was still sensitive to movement.

The woman was small—petite, he would say—and she smiled at him gently. She didn't carry any trace of the Capitol beyond the silver feathers in her auburn hair. "Petra," she introduced. "Your stylist."

Eren sighed. Each pair of tributes was assigned a stylist to help them make an impression at the Opening Ceremony. Only, they had to design costumes that represented the tributes' home districts. Petra sat across from him. "It's my first year as a stylist for the tributes."

"And you were assigned to Shinganshina?" Eren suspected, pitying her. District 12 was known for its fishing industry. A large river ran through the district and out the channel in the wall. Fish. Fish smell. Fish people. Fish children.

"I chose it," she contradicted, noting Eren's surprise. "I was inspired by a young man's selflessness."

Eren flushed red under the intense lighting. "So what are you thinking? Scales?"

She laughed. "12 is known for its fishing. But it's also known for its river. A fresh, powerful, flowing river that cannot be stopped. And you know where that river ends up, don't you?"

Eren's eyes lifted to hers, and her auburn irises warmed something in his chest.

"The ocean."

* * *

OoO

* * *

"They're going to _what_?" Eren choked.

Petra rolled her eyes. Oluo, one of her prep team, mumbled something behind her, something about not paying any _goddamn attention_ , and she shushed him.

"Your clothes. They're going to liquefy."

"Completely?" Mikasa wondered, glancing down at her beautiful blue dress and frowning like the idea of televised nudity was only slightly humiliating.

"No. Hopefully not."

They stared at her.

"If for some reason, the suits malfunction, then at least they'll all have something to talk about. Any publicity is good publicity."

Eren shot a fearful glance at Mikasa, and for a second, it almost looked like she'd cracked a smile. Almost.

As they boarded their carriages, Eren took in the other tributes. There was a range of ages, but most were sixteen or older. There was a blonde girl in front of him who looked _impatient_ to strangle someone, two boys who appeared beyond uncomfortable in their gladiator costumes, and a girl and boy in matching…potato outfits? There were others, but their own carriage began moving to file in the back of the line, and Eren turned away, feeling queasy.

He would be ordered to kill them all in less than two weeks.

* * *

OoO

* * *

"Ready?" Eren asked, as they entered the giant stadium packed with Capitol citizens and fans of the Games.

Mikasa shook her head.

"Me neither."

In unison, they activated their outfits, and the material dissolved, slowly, into gel-like molecules, leaving behind a curtain of billowing cloth and water. Eren could feel the water spraying his face, rushing behind him, dissolving into mist before brushing the ground. The crowd quieted, awed, before erupting into manic squeals and gasps.

They loved it.

He spared a glance at Mikasa, and he almost fell off the carriage.

She looked like a goddess.

Her makeup was sparse. Only a trail of blue and white on the crescents of her eyes. Her hair was free, flowing and curling behind her like satin. Like water. Her dress had dissolved into running, splashing liquid, so abundant that it concealed her chest and lower half, but thin enough that he could see the substance gliding over her pale, smooth skin.

Together they were a wave crashing against shore. A force to be reckoned with. A rising tide.

Eren couldn't help it. He grinned.

Eventually the carriage slowed, and Eren could sense the other tributes glaring at them. Envious. Potato girl was gawking at them mid-chew.

The water dissolved, and they were left in slim, blue outfits, like swimwear. Too much skin for Eren's taste. He kept his eyes far from Mikasa's figure. Definitely too much skin in that direction.

Up above them on the balcony of the large arena, stood the president of Panem.

Zeke.

He raised a hand, silencing the cheers and the wild, sickening excitement of the citizens.

Eren tried not to glare, but he failed. There was too much anger for this man. The individual who carried on the Hunger Games, who relished the tears of the districts. He was the greatest murderer known to man. And Eren feared him.

He felt something brush his hand, ignored it. When it happened again, he grabbed the tickling device. Mikasa's soft hand slid into his, and their fingers laced.

 _I know_ , it meant, understanding his rage. _But you're on television. Don't let it show._

"Welcome, Tributes. Happy Hunger Games!"

More cheering.

"100 years ago, an uprising led to war, and war led to famine. Brothers slayed brothers. Mankind was nearly wiped off the face of the planet. But in the end, we prevailed. The traitors payed their price. And we must be reminded that Panem should never again fall to treason. You brave, courageous tributes have shouldered this responsibility. You pave the path for a secure future. And the sole victor shall be rewarded with everlasting riches, to illustrate our generosity. Our peace…" Zeke paused, gazing steadily at the camera that projected his face over enormous screens. "Welcome tributes. May the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

 **Yay! Things are picking up. Can't wait to introduce the tributes. :D**


End file.
